"Slide" (said the little penguin.) - Part 11/11: Epilogue - "there's no
place like *home" [Home | Quicksearch | Search Engine | Random
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Beta'd by Erin.
"Slide" (said the little penguin.) - Part 11/11: Epilogue - "there's no
place like *home" by Ralu
(Over. Nicest part of release - *any* release - is the feeling of
surrender. Surrender to what? A new beginning? Right... More like
breathing life inside a well-nested lie, making it seem real enough, true
enough to actually pass for reality. Brand new day. Release.)
****************************
Okay. So lockdown's over, everybody can roam around at their own
pseudo-free will... Ha! Ha!... Anyway, a bigger cage is still better than
a smaller one, right?
What matters is that he's out and he can at least hope of winning at a
game of cards and...(--'Please, God, please. Just once would do,
please!...'--) LOSE at a game of chess... Same mindless, boring things he
used to do before, coming back to Toby within the same numbing biorhythm.
Seeing Busmalis' childish, comforting leer while staring at Miss Sally's
tits (--'sorry: *breasts*'--) and O'Reily's psychotic grin when he puts
those magnificent, devilish wits of his to work for accomplishing
something that doesn't involve getting someone maimed or killed...or just
seeding pure mayhem -- winning at chess. Yep, one thing's for sure: Ryan's
a whole lot smarter than his podmate.
And speaking of which...what else does the end of lockdown imply?
*UH-HUH*.
(--'It's official, my dear friend, you can't do shit to hide away from it
now.'--)
Fag or prag or simply fucking nutcase junkie - he can't run away from it.
And neither can Chris. It would be almost excruciatingly embarrassing - if
it weren't so fucked up, so weirdly hilarious. Both of them, they're
'quite the pair'... Fucking 'two of a kind'...
Just like O'Reily puts it:
"The guy breaks your arms and now you fuck him. That's surreal, man. Only
you - or him - could come up with this kind of shit. You're both fucking
crazy."
(--'Yeah... But then again...I wouldn't consider killing the husband of
the woman you love and fucking up your brother's life in the process
exactly 'sane' either.'--)
Whatever.
And - his friend - the one he kept whining to Chris about how he wanted,
needed to talk to him...well, Said's proving to be his usual self:
annoying. Self-righteous. So fucking self-righteous it makes
Toby...(--What? You're not gonna say you wish the lockdown hadn't ended,
are you?'--) Okay, he's not about to say that, but... Things are not
exactly *easy*.
And - with that - everything turns back to his seemingly predestined
mate: strutting around the quad like one of those fucking big cats you get
to see on the Discovery channel.
Marking its territory. (--'Its territory being...*you*. Brilliant.'--)
Brushing his stubbled jaw across Toby's own - pure intent and a clear
message within his outstretched arm around his shoulders to every fuckwad
in Em City: "back off, he's MINE." (--'Yeah, fucking brilliant.'--)
Passion *or* possession? Who knows? Who the fuck cares? Beecher does.
Something which - in prison logic or any other logic for that matter -
makes all the difference. 'Cause Toby knows what it means; and he doesn't
wanna go back there. (--'No way, no fucking way. No chance in hell.'--)
Having Keller's annoyed words whispered almost threateningly, when
nobody's around to listen:
"What the fuck do you care about what they say? You know...and I know...
That's all that matters, all that should matter."
And Beecher asking himself silently:
"Know *what* exactly?!..."
As far as the inmates in Em City are concerned, they're two guys fucking
each other up the ass. As far as the men that know them a bit better,
they're a couple of really fucked up weirdos spinning in a closed circle
of two. Tangled. Obsessive. Self-destructive. But as far as the rest of
the inmates are concerned...somebody's got to be on top, right?
'Cause...they are in prison. And one of them just HAS to be the other's.
(Property.) PRAG.
"What the fuck do you care, Toby? You know...and I know..." (--'Yeah, I
know...'--) Presumably.
Still, that doesn't solve shit. But Toby knows, and Keller seems to
fucking live off it - it's a whole lot better than what they had before.
And Chris' arms around him, with everybody watching, with the hacks
yelling at them like they're in junior high...it feels kind of *nice*. It
feels good. Fun. (--'Crazy.'--) For this man - Chris, Christopher Keller -
cares enough about him to risk everything: his own safety, his own life.
Not to mention his rep. Which - after all - is all one can have in prison.
In everybody else's eyes, they're both fucked up - fig and lit.
And...dangerous. (Together.) Just ask Andy. (--'Yeah, just ask
*Andy*...'--)
What unites them; and what separates them.
Toby knows part of what drives Keller to care so much about him is the
same thing that sets them so far apart. That deep-seated belief Chris
seems to have that Toby's different. That there's something that sets him
apart from the rest of the guys in Oz; apart from him. And...(--'what
exactly is that? My conscience? My fucking *feelings*? I've killed a man.
I killed him with my bare hands, watched his life drain out of him,
flowing though my fingers. I've tried to kill you... And Andy... Andy. If
guilt after the fact counts as a conscience, then conscience is completely
useless. Unimportant. Just another example of how I always manage to turn
every horrible thing I do into something about myself. *Only* myself. I
guess the difference between you and me, Chris...lays only in the fact
that I twist and torment myself about it with everybody watching. I'm a
poser. But then again...so are you. Just that you hide your guilt, your
demons, behind indifference. Your best protective mechanism - 'til it
breaks down that is...'--)
And that means...they're not *that* different. They're both just as
powerful; just as weak. Both just as guilty. Neither one of them is a
*better* man. (Junkies.) Needy, moody, always-up-for-a-fight, fucked up
junkies. Feeding off each other like animals. (Nice image.)
(--'Always up and ready for a fun-filled, entertaining stage show for Tim
McManus' tit-smiling glass-people of Em City. Yay!...'--)
The odd couple of Em City. (--'Always at your disposal.'--)
Oh, yeah...lockdown's over all right! Best example? Hoyt - jeering behind
them, in his unmistakable tone:
"Fucking faggots!"
Yeah: yay... There's no place like *home*...
******************************
(Lie, truth, brand new beginning... Who the fuck cares? One day follows
another, darkness chases daylight. Seconds swallow themselves, hours
devour each other. 'Til time finally stands still. Until then, there
really ain't nothing to do but wait. Eat, sleep, piss. Fuck. Hate. Love.
Think... Until your head, your heart, your dick explodes. All in between -
just days and nights, marks on the calendar. Marks with different meanings
for different people, but still...only marks.)
---the end---
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